Angel's Cafe
by Metronomeblue
Summary: Emily Hayes needs help. Of the Winchester kind. She has what appears to be a ghost problem, but turns out to be something much more sinister. This in itself is worrying.  And then there's the Trickster to deal with... Now we're ALL in trouble...


Hey guys. GABRIELLLLLLL! TTATT How could you Luc?

Dean knew that life was pretty crappy at the moment. Hell, if anyone knew, it was him. But Dean Winchester was a survivor, through and through, so he kept going. He kept living. But really, when confronted with a twenty-seven-or-so red-headed girl who was persistently following him, who wouldn't be irritated to Hell and back? Well, that was until he noticed how attractive she was... Until life suddenly improved and a Trickster joined Team Free Will. But at that moment he was just annoyed to Hell and back.

"WOULD YOU QUIT FOLLOWING ME?" Dean bellowed, turning around to stare at the unfazed girl. She stared back at him calmly.

"No." She said simply. Smiling immaturely at him, and annoying him further.

"Why?" He asked her impatiently.

"Oh, let's see... because I need your help." Dean lifted one eyebrow, keeping his mouth grit in a thin, firm line. "No," she said, licking her lollipop. "I really do need help from your kind."

"Um... right. Wait, our kind?" They ducked into a cafe, Sam looking up from a corner as they walked in, looking down again and showing no surprise at seeing his brother with a beautiful girl. "Hey, Sammy, this girl says... What do you say?" He asked, deadpanning. Sam looked up, confused now.

"I need your sort of help." She took a seat, not waiting to be asked. "You know the drill, exorcism, Latin, ghosts, salt, death, demons, la-di-da." She ticked of on her fingers, at la-di-da spreading them wide and wiggling them in a 'testing' manner. "That help."

"Oh. Okay." Sam said. "What's the problem?-" He began.

"And far more importantly, what's your name?" Asked Dean flirtatiously.

"Emily Hayes. And I have no need of a boyfriend." She said, giving Dean a look he would call 'Bitchface #73' on Sam. Aforementioned Sam sniggered.

"Oh... Okay..." Dean flinched, but kept his cover under her icy stare. "What is it you need?" He got back into the swing.

"I need you to..." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph, old, black and white, and of a cute little girl who was holding a sword. She had freckles, wore a sweater tied around her shoulders, and had straight hair down to her collarbone. "Identify her. And figure out whether she could be a ghost." Dean and Sam shared a glance.

"You mean, you don't know whether or not she's a ghost?" Sam asked slightly incredulously.

"No." She replied. "I just keep seeing her in my house, not always, but mostly at night. She follows me, too. I mean, she doesn't do anything, but she follows me." Emily chewed her bottom lip. "I don't know what she is." Sam looked oddly at Dean, giving him a look somewhere between the Puppy-Dog-Eyes-Kicked-Me-Hard-But-I-Still-Love-You-Can-You-Give-Me-A-Cookie? look, and the If-We-Don't-Help-Her-She-May-Die look. Dean caved.

"We'll need to stake out at your house, and we may need to follow you too." Dean said, glancing back over to Emily, who looked considerably relieved, furthering his, as Bobby called it, 'Pity-To-Labour Drive'.

"Okay. She doesn't seem to mind if anyone sees her, but she follows me specifically." Emily nodded and stood up. "Please, follow me." She smiled, leading them out of the cafe. "I work and live in the same building, but there are a few spare rooms you two can use. But, if you want good cafe food, come with me." She led them out and down Ash Street and up Spirit Lane.

"Heh, rather coincidental, that you live on Spirit Lane, and you're having trouble with a ghost." Smirked Dean, though not altogether wrong.

"Mm-hm. I thought so too." She laughed leading them up to a bright building named Angel's Cafe, rather cleanly decorated in pastel shades of sky blue, sage green, lavender, cream, and other fresh colors. Dean raised both eyebrows this time, admiring the decorating and the neatly designed uniforms. All the waitresses wore knee-length, sky-blue dresses, with varying sleeve-lengths, and different personal touches had been added to each. Here, sleeveless, there turtleneck, small apron, pinafore. Even Sam was amazed by her genius at making the Cafe at once both welcoming, and stylish.

"Wow. You work here?" Sam asked, surprised by this. "It's so... NICE." He twirled, [Very unmanly Sam!] around, and stared up at the silver-blue ceiling.

"Work?" Emily laughed incredulously, half-mocking him. "I own this place. I'm the chef, too." She smiled proudly at their stunned looks. "Welcome home." She laughed, taking off her jacket and hanging it on a vintage hatstand in the corner. She then walked between the tables, ducking between and calling hellos to friends and neighbors and other acquaintances she'd made over the years. "Sarah!" She jogged over to a waitress with blonde hair and grey eyes, pulling Sam, and therefore Dean, along with her. "They're here to help." Dean eyed Sarah appreciatively. Sam looked sheepish. [Sheepdoggish, actually.]

"Hi." Sam waved embarrassedly.

"Hey. Sarah Richardson. At your service. Literally, actually!" She smiled, making a peace sign. "You're welcome here anytime if you're a friend of Emily's. She's the heart of this place." Emily blushed, patting Sarah's shoulder, and brushing it along as she made her way to the kitchen.

"So, she owns this place? Seriously?" Dean asked. "I mean, wow... It's really nice." Sarah smiled.

"Yep. And it's reasonable, too. Even sells things for less than she should sometimes. She's the greatest. Best chef I've ever met." Sarah took a menu from a finished customer, and led Sam and Dean to the 'bar', which was half-empty but comfortable. "She makes something, you can't help but wonder how. It's... Magical. Like the Cafe. Speaking of that, did she ever tell you why she named it that?" She dodged a man. "Here sir." She gave him the menu.

"Can we try something?" Dean asked, mind, as always, on food.

"Sure, you'll probably get a discount too, actually, because you're helping her." Sarah grabbed two menus from a passing waitress, name-tag spelling Tessa. "She's totally charitable, too charitable for her own good, if you ask me." She showed them to two seats at the 'bar', which looked in on the kitchen. "Though no-one does." She added, slipping in the kitchen to begin preparing what looked like a cupcake... only on steroids of the BEST kind. Sam shook his head, still wondering about the cafe's name.

"Wouldja lookit that." Dean whistled at the vanilla heaven resting on a plate. "They know their stuff."

S~U~P~E~R~N~A~T~U~R~A~L~!

"So, what did you try?" Emily asked, letting her hair down, only to tie it back again. "I saw you eyeing the cloudey thing." Dean smiled.

"Yeah... the Angel Fluff, right? But what's with the name?" Dean mumbled through the cake.

"Thing?" Sam asked, intrigued. Now it was her turn to smile.

"I've called it that since a five-year-old threw one at the ceiling and told her mother, 'look Mommy, it's a cloud'. Even Sarah laughed." She took their plates. "It's actually what I named after the Cafe. We even grow our own vanilla, just 'cuz it tastes better." Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Quality over quantity?" She nodded, still cheery. He turned back to Dean. "I think there's more to this place than meets the eye." Dean's mouth was too full of frosting to even agree.

S~U~P~E~R~N~A~T~U~R~A~L~!

"Laaaa, la dadididumdeedummmmm..." Emily hummed, rinsing a plate in warm water. "And I was once a Fritoooo Bandiitoooo... And Iiiiiii once had a pupppyyyyy..." She let her mind wander. "Laaaalliiilaaaaaa..."

"Heya." Dean came downstairs, Sam following.

"Hey." The plate clinked on the metal drying rack. "She's gonna come soon." She muttered, they heard her though.

"She is?" Sam crept out from behind Dean. "How d'you know?" She smiled, not looking up.

"Because it's cold." She turned, drying her hands on a towel. "She only comes when it's cold." Suddenly, a chill began to descend on them, in a very, albeit cliche, deafening manner. "Here she is." And there was the young girl, her hair fluttering in a self-induced breeze, her dress ruffled as it was in the photo, and a large shadowy pair of wings puppeteered behind her on the wall.

"What?" Asked Sam.

"Whut the-" Began Dean.

"Well, well, well... Lookee here. It's the Brothers Hardy and The red-head chef." Drawled someone behind them, and as they turned, they were startled to see The Holy Tax Accountant and the Trickster standing rather normally on the staircase.

"Fuh-?" Finished Sam, sharing a look with his brother.

"OUT." Emily said firmly, never turning away from her, the 'ghost'. "Just leave."

"She can't, dumbass." Quipped Gabriel, as though it were obvious. "She's an angel. And she's watching you in your Archangel's absence. To every Archangel there is a Prophet of our Father." He pointed at Emily. "You." He said simply.

"Riiiiiiight." Skepticised Emily, still facing this now-supposed Archangel. "First I'm crazy, now I'm a prophet?" She finally turned to the Angels. "You idiots are OFF. YOUR. MEDS. Now I may dream about weird things, but when I fell deja vu, I ignore it. This. Is A. Ghost." She marched straight over to the 'ghost', and wrenching an iron poker from Dean, [at this point utterly confuzzeled] she swung it almost expertly towards the girl, who was now smiling. "Catch it if you can." Emily muttered.

TO BE CONTINUED!

A/N:

So, I'm kinda setting up things for future fics I may write... Unsure, but if you can spot the pairing, please review! Heck, If you can't spot the pairing please review. If you want to kill me and hold me for ransom, please review. [especially then!]


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